


Bad Moon Rising

by secretagentstarchild



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Life Isn't Fun And Rainbows at the End of the World, M/M, Pliroy Week 2017, Post-Apocalypse, Star-crossed, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 02:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10207352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretagentstarchild/pseuds/secretagentstarchild
Summary: After the Fall, the world is a broken place. The city is a ruin, a boneyard of rust and twisted metal, ruled by fierce tribes of warriors that battle for resources, for power, for a taste of glory. Yuri is the Ice Tiger - the fiercest warrior of the Heartless clan. Viktor's right hand man. Beautiful, merciless and empty. JJ is the King of the Beasts. The man who has claimed Yuri's death for his own - his mortal enemy. When all they know is blood and fire... How does love manage to grow?(Pliroy Week 2017: Day 8: Alternative Universe)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so... I am pretty obsessed with all things post-apocalyptic, so when Pliroy Week announced an AU day, I knew exactly what I wanted to try! This is going to be a super short fic, only three or four chapters, but I hope you enjoy it. Also, I apologize ahead of time if the characters are a little darker than usual - but when they have been shaped by a dark world. It's hard to be an amazing person and thrive in this post-apocalyptic reality, so I tried to write them as their environment would have molded them.

“What is taking Christophe so long?” Mila's voice was sharp with exasperation as she leaned against the wood of the counter, her eyes scanning the empty parlor around them. 

Yuri resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the older woman's complaint, though he would never concede that she had a point. The trader and leader of the Sirens was never late – yet here they stood. Alone in the heartland of the Siren's den, waiting impatiently as the minutes crept away, each one slower than the last.

At least it was an interesting place to wait, Yuri had to admit. Usually, the large room would hold a few dozen occupants, men and women from all corners of the city who sought to lose themselves in bliss for a few precious hours. Yet, it was too early for the pleasure seekers. It was just the crimson haired warrior woman, and the slender youth at her side, and he had plenty of time to study their surroundings.

It was vastly different than the cluttered rooms he was used to. Instead of the usual layers of haphazard paint or peeled wallpaper, the walls of Siren's Den were draped in long swathes of fabric. There was scarlet silk dangling next to cranberry velvet, fluttering beside sheer tawny golds. It was passion expressed in a dozen different shades that shrouded the room in a fierce sort of beauty. Crimson and gold – the colors of lust and rage and desire and greed, the weaknesses of men that the Sirens could soothe, the primal urges that they could tame beneath a whisper of their lips. 

There were mismatched couches pressed against the edges of the walls, threadbare and faded, and pillows scattered across them, patchwork fabric sewn together from tattered remnants. A wooden bar crossed the corner of the room, behind which stood dozens of glass bottles, their heavy skin smooth and labelless, yet they cradled a world of delirium within their curves. Above the bar, bits of shattered glass had been strung together into ropes of rainbow, casting fractured prisms against the walls. And when one reached tentative fingers above their head to brush against them, the rainbowed strands clinked together like bullet casings, sharp and hollow.

Lanterns and glass-encircled candles rose around them, casting a warm, drowsy glow around the room. Yet here and there, one could see the strange hints of the past, those little knick knacks that Christophe couldn't help but collect. Like the metal bell-shaped birdcage sitting in one corner, or the doll perched on a shelf, wearing a torn dress and staring at the world with only one blue-glass eye.

Like the tall shattered mirror propped up in a corner, its elaborate frame carved into bronze-dipped vines and shy blossoms unfurled for the world to admire. Yuri could see a kaleidoscope of reflections dancing amidst the cracks. And cradled between the canyons that rivered through the silvered surface, he saw dozens of green-silver eyes staring back. It was strange to see himself as the world saw him, and Yuri allowed himself the luxury of staring at his own reflection for a brief heartbeat. 

It was a curious sensation, to see himself as others did. He had been the last sight of so many warriors – his visage burnt beneath their eyelids as their world went dark and their blood spilled upon the broken cement. Was this what they had glimpsed?

Yuri's hair fell past his collarbone in strands of pale tawny silk, yet the right side had been shorn away from nape to temple, revealing nothing but a short velvet softness. The left side fell thick and wild, and a half dozen thin braids were plaited through his mane, elaborately looped together and decorated with beads of glass and metal. He wore black warpaint streaked across the ivory of his flesh. One dark ink line emerged from the hairline between his eyes, fading into a sharp-fanged point. It was only three finger-widths long, flanked on either side by a smaller, thinner version of itself. The same sharp-point design was repeated on Yuri's cheeks, emerging from his hairline to cut across his cheekbones in two parallel lines – the top line fading just into a point just an inch below the outer corner of his cold-green eyes. The lower line spanning only three-quarters of the same distance. 

Yuri was draped entirely in black, though each garment looked as if it had been sewn from half a dozen others. A tattered and torn sleeveless shirt clung to his torso. Over that, he wore a black leather vest, its hood pulled back to rest against his spine. From wrist to elbow, fabric formed sleeves, frayed and twisted and shredded at the edges – yet they protected his skin from the thick leather bracer that curled across his left arm, ending just past the ridges of his first knuckles. The bracer was Yuri's defining trademark – yet here in the neutral Siren territory, it was incomplete. And it made him feel naked.

But at least he had his blades. Across his chest there was a thick strip of leather like a sash – and there were a dozen smaller blades tucked into small slots along its entire length – throwing knives within easy reach of his fingertips. On his thigh, there were two heavier sheathes with thicker daggers. And those were just the blades that were visible. 

Yuri's black pants were mostly patches, thin stripes of black canvas hand-sewn together with thick grey thread. He wore two different boots, one of them reaching midway up his calf. The tallest boot was wrapped with scrapes of dark colored fabric – black and purples and reds – a decent replacement for its busted zipper. The other boot was shorter, tied securely to his foot, and silver metal plates gleamed from the heel and the tip of its toe. 

The Ice Tiger. Danger shrouded in such an unlikely form. An angel of death, and the right hand man of Viktor himself. The fiercest warrior of the Heartless clan – so young and so slender, yet woven from destructive grace. 

Yuri was torn from his foolish thoughts by the companion at his side. It was Mila's voice again, a sigh tangling out from her chest, a sound of boredom and restless annoyance that would soon begin to burn with frustration. The fire-haired woman wasn't known for her patience – or her temperance when that thin thread of patience finally snapped. 

“We had a meeting,” she muttered, pushing a copper tendril away from her delicate cheekbones. Her eyes were narrowed, and the frown that painted across the pink of her lips was tinged with exasperation. “We agreed on a time for a _reason_.”

“You're just in a rush to go spend time with your mercenary boy,” Yuri said, and although every word sounded bleached with boredom, he laughed inside at the way her body stiffened with surprise. “Does Viktor know you've been bewitched by someone outside of the clan?”

“Of course, Viktor knows. I'm not an idiot,” Mila cast him an irritated glare, but he still caught the ghost of a grin that threatened to emerge from the ruby of her lips as she tossed her head, sending those flame-kissed strands to tumble against her cheekbones. “It's not like Beka's an enemy. He's clanless. Besides, I think Viktor's hoping I'll bring Beka into the Heartless. Even you've got to admit that he's proven his worth several times over.” 

Yuri didn't have anything cutting to say in response – she was right on all counts. Beka had proven to be very valuable indeed. Silence settled around them once more, and he found himself grateful that – at least Mila had fallen quiet, her lips curved into a smile at the thought of her lover. Another long minute passed. And another.

Her nails began to drum against the smooth wood of the counter, shifting from one foot to another. Idly, Yuri could hear the faint sound of voices in far away rooms, a shout of boisterous laughter, the soft murmur of moans or sobs weaving together in a fragile symphony that was strangely comforting. It was almost serene here in this den of pleasure and trade. Or at least, the sounds of bliss and rapture were subdued. It was a strange experience compared to the chaos of the Heartless compound, where there were always snarling brawls to mix with the shouts of training and curses hurled like weapons, where everyone laughed just as loudly as they fought. 

The Siren's den was one of the few places in the city where peace reigned. Where weapons were forbidden to be unsheathed, and the moment blood spilled to soak into floorboards, life would be forfeit. A small haven where the violence held its breath and clans were forced to put aside their grievances. This was a place of trade and pleasure. Where Christophe would pour rotgut liquor into a dented metal cup, and one could choose to lose one's self amidst the soft limbs and breathy sighs and the curved lips of Christophe's girls and boys. His Sirens. 

“If Christophe doesn't get here soon, I swear I'm going to rip out his -” Mila's soft voice broke, halting like a breath in the back of her throat.

Ribbons of lace and scarlet dangled from a doorway closest to the empty bar – tattered fabric separating the two worlds. Beyond them, Yuri knew, were the hallways that led to the Siren's domain – the dozens of small boudoirs where they worked their arts. And beyond the ribbons, he could hear the brush of heavy feet against carpet as someone finally approached.

This was peaceful territory. Yet it was hard to remember the truce when Yuri saw a familiar form push the ribbons aside and step into the warm glow of the salon. When his heart slammed against his chest and his tongue choked upon the profanity that he was forced to swallow.

He knew that face well. Dark hair fell over black brows, and every strand seemed wrapped in midnight – except where it was shorn close to his scalp - that velvet was the color of smudged charcoal. Long lashes swept across sharp cheekbones, and their inked darkness only made those twilight eyes burn brighter. They glinted with amusement that sparkled like a handful of stars, too vivid, too radiant. He knew that strong jawline, scraped of a beard and yet still shadowed with scruff. The perpetual smirk that quirked the edges of those firm lips. Those broad shoulders straightened beneath the scarlet jacket of his rank – the young man before him wore confidence like a crown of twisted metal against his brow. He wore his power as easily as Yuri wore his blades. 

JJ. The greatest enemy of his clan. His own personal nemesis. The king of the Beasts, those fierce warriors who often draped themselves in fur and bone and metal and feathers, as if they could embrace the strength of the feral creatures that roamed the barren city streets. 

“What is he doing here?” Mila's voice was a mutter of surprise, threaded with a wary tension that he could see echoed in the tight strain of her muscles. There was no trace of boredom in her stance now. 

“Why does anyone come to visit the Sirens?” Yuri responded just as softly, but he had to spit the words from between clenched teeth. The pearls of bone grinding together until he could almost taste its bitter dust upon his tongue. 

_Don't come over here,_ he prayed silently in the back of his mind. He kept his face carefully blank, every muscle frozen into a mask of boredom.

But of course, JJ would stride towards them. There was a lazy smile on his face, yet there was no disguising the danger that lurked in every coiled muscle, the panther grace with which he moved – that languid sway of a predator stalking towards its prey. Especially when his gaze fell upon the slender forms of Yuri and Mila, leaning against the wooden bar as they waited for Christophe to appear. 

The lazy smile stretched into something edged with wicked thorns. The blue of JJ's eyes darkened into the color of bruises as he leaned upon the wooden bar, just out of arm-reach of the pair. “Now here's a sight I never thought I'd see. Could it be? The Ice Tiger has come to tumble a Siren and melt the cold from his bones?” 

Yuri's fingers clenched, the tips of his nails trying to dig crescents into the rich mahogany. He refused to let JJ provoke him. Vaguely, he was aware that Christophe had followed on JJ's heels, slipping easily in his usual place behind the bar. And although he wore an expression of mild detachment, Yuri had a feeling that the older man was purposefully positioning himself within easy reach of a weapon in case the trio of enemies broke the Siren's law of truce.

The heavy silence did not dampen JJ's amusement. Yuri could feel the other boy's gaze sweeping over him, studying him carefully. As if searching for the proper place to sink in a blade – except his hands were emptied of weapons. JJ could only use his words to invoke combat here. And every unspoken sentence felt heavy with threat. He could almost see the silent way that JJ was rolling the syllables soft and careful against his tongue, choosing which ones to hurl for maximum damage.

Yuri's blood was dancing in his veins, the dazzling song of adrenaline curling ribbons through his muscles. There was danger here – he could taste it. He could feel it growing, the lightning energy crackling against the scarlet clad corners of this room. A part of him ached to lean into it, to sink into its grasp and see where it led, to see the surprise bloom across JJ's face if he let go of his careful control. But he wasn't suicidal enough to be provoked in the Siren's den.

JJ was determined to get a reaction of some sort, though. His voice was a slow drawl to match the easy lean of his body, as relaxed as a cobra curled up beneath the sun. His head was tilted gently to spill strands of hair over his eyes, yet the gold of the lanterns cast flickers of light against the glossy midnight darkness – haloing his head with an aurelian crown. The weight of his gaze was heavy with focus, as if Yuri was the only person in the room - the flare behind his eyes too bright with mischief and danger and that insufferable laughter. 

“If you want a recommendation, I'd suggest Isabella. Hair as dark as night, and blue eyes you could drown yourself in - Izzy may be a little worn out right now, but give her some time to rest and she'll be able to handle you well enough.” The wink that JJ threw could have been a punch, fingers coiled into fists and aimed straight for his throat. 

That arrogant sonofabitch. Offering his leftovers in a calculated insult that was as insufferable as that smug smile spread across his face. Fury flared inside of Yuri's chest, searing enough to steal the breath from his lungs, burning common sense into ash. His head snapped upwards to finally glare at the man who leaned so casually beside him. Their gazes caught. 

Two beautiful monsters trapped in the web of enmity that had ensnared them all. 

“Might as well seek pleasure while you can, Yuri,” JJ's voice grew softer, taking the name inside of his mouth and dragging it against his tongue, long and low and with such familiarity that it became a taunt. “None of us are promised a tomorrow. And those with a claim on their blood... They've got less tomorrows than most.”

It was the sound of peril shrouded in velvet warmth, and Yuri could almost taste the tension blooming between them, growing stronger with the promise of bruised knuckles and the taste of copper. He could feel the warmth of Mila at his back, hear the sound of her harsh breathing hitching into a gasp at the final insult. 

Common sense snapped and Yuri's lips peeled back into a snarl. “I'd rather bury a knife in your guts, you fucking feral-” 

“Oi. Ceasefire,” came Christophe's voice, warm and laughing – yet the green of his eyes seemed carved from cold glass as they flickered between them. In spite of the easy smile curving his lips, both men caught the danger that lurked in his words. 

JJ responded by holding up his hands in surrender, and his laughter felt like sandpaper against Yuri's mind. “I'm just offering some friendly advice, Christophe,” the Beast warrior assured him. “I wouldn't dream of breaking the Siren's peace.” 

Yuri watched as the King of the Beasts took a few steps backwards, though he refused to turn his eyes away from Yuri. His head tilted gently, and he could see that hint of a pleased smile crook the edges of his lips, see the lantern light spill dark shadows across the clean edge of JJ's jaw. He was a rakish devil who knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Take care of my men back there, Christophe,” JJ called out to the man behind the bar, though he refused to look away from the blond-haired boy. “Tell them to enjoy themselves. I'll catch up with them later.” He halted near the doorway, just long enough to reach for the weapon propped forgotten in the corner, that thick twisted club with its crown of rusted nails. He swung it easily to rest against his shoulder, cocking his head to deliver one last tilted smirk for Yuri alone.

Christophe nodded in assent, lifting one palm in a gesture of good-bye. And just like that, the King was gone. And somehow, the large room felt emptier without the brash loud laughter, without the blood-boiling tension. Yet JJ's words still echoed in his mind, little shards of glass that wedged themselves into his blood-stream. Yuri fumed silently, feeling their poison curl through his lungs. 

Mila rested gentle fingers against his arm in restraint, feeling the tension that vibrated through taunt muscles. Her eyes watched the emptied doorway, her lips curled up into a sneer. “Less than a week,” she whispered, reassuringly. “Less than a week and he'll be gone. No more blood claim. No more Beasts. We'll rule the city and they'll go to hell.”

She spat on the ground as if their very name left an acrid taste upon her tongue, yet nothing could disguise the hungry gleam in her pale blue eyes. 

The threat was gone and yet Yuri couldn't seem to convince his body to relax. The curl of his fists dug nails into the tender flesh of his palms – and beside him, he heard Christophe speak up – heard Mila respond. Yet their voices were a blur of sound, faint and distant at the edges of his hearing. All he could remember was that smug smirk twisting across firm lips. The way blue eyes had laughed as he had recommended a Siren, offered a woman who knew the taste of his lips. The soft growl of the other man's voice, the pointed reminder that JJ had claimed the blood in his veins, had vowed to be the one to spill it.

Suddenly, the crimson-draped walls around him felt as if they were pressing too close, as if the ceiling was sinking and Yuri felt smothered. His muscles coiled with tension, restless and furious, teeth still grinding together. He wanted to fight. He wanted to scream and snarl and hurl knuckles at the wall. Wanted to swing fists at the cracked mirror and hear the glass shatter so delightfully, breaking like bones into a thousand silvered stars. He wanted to tear the soft gauzy fabric from the walls and watch it burn, flames dancing until nothing existed but pale, powdered ash.

“I've gotta get some air or I'm going to punch something,” he muttered to Mila, pushing himself away from the bar. He reached up to drag his fingers through the pale sunshine of his hair, darkened to honey in the lantern light. 

The crimson-haired lass spared him a concerned glance, but she tilted her head in a gesture of assent. From the twitch of her lips, Yuri knew that she wanted to tell him to stay. But he had rank on his side – he didn't require her permission. And they both knew that someone still needed to stay and finish bargaining with Christophe – there was no point in wasting this meeting, and Mila was definitely the most skilled negotiator of the two of them. 

With the restless energy crackling in his veins, Yuri was more likely to cause more harm than good if he stayed. And they both knew it. So he walked away without a single hint of guilt.

The moment Yuri stepped out of the heavy doorway and into the outside world once more, he sucked in a breath. As if a lungful of oxygen could calm the storm lashing behind his ribcage, as if the faint breeze could soothe the thunder of his heartbeat roaring within his ears. 

The world seemed too bright compared to the warmth of the Siren's den. After the scarlet walls and the dim lantern light that had dipped the room in a comforting glow... Even the pale evening light seemed too harsh. Yuri's eyes narrowed into slits as his gaze struggled to adjust to the brightness. The weak sun struggled to peer its eyes through the charcoaled clouds, yet even the bleached sunshine was darkening. Shadows were growing larger, stretched across the ground as dusk approached. 

He felt too exposed.

The warrior boy reached into the heavy pocket of his pants. Fingers curled around metal, pulling his treasure out into the dusky afternoon. It was a band of silvered metal as wide as his hand, and from the steel sprouted four metal blades that curved down into wicked points several inches past his knuckles.

Yuri unsnapped a strip of leather from the top of the bracer of his left hand. The metal band fit smoothly behind it, blades sinking gracefully through slits cut into the leather. When he snapped the leather strip back into place, the metal blades were snug and firm – an extension of the bracer itself. An extension of his own soul. With these metal blades, he could slash and hack and rip through flesh – yet he could still curl fingers around an extra blade if he needed to. 

The tiger claws that had given him his moniker. 

His breath left his lips in a sigh of relief, fingers flexing. Without his claws, Yuri always felt naked. Yet now he was armed. Now he could take on the whole bloody world. 

It was a brief moment of satisfaction, brushed away as quickly as it came. Movement caught his attention. His muscles stiffened as he caught a glimpse of red flickering at the edges of his vision – a smudge of scarlet against the pale grey skies, and he instinctively slipped a heavy bladed dagger from the sheath at his thigh, feeling the solid weight settle against his palm. 

It was JJ, of course. He caught a glimpse of crimson shoulders, the sway-hipped strut of a predator combing the streets – and then his enemy turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Yuri hesitated for only a brief heart beat before he began to follow across familiar streets.

How could he resist such temptation?

The asphalt beneath Yuri's feet was cracked, marked by huge crevices that tore through the blacktop like a broken heart. Huge chunks had been ripped straight out of the streets and sidewalks, littering the earth like a boneyard of skulls. Buildings stretched high towards the skies, the tombstones of giants – the palaces of Before. Many of the buildings were falling down, collapsing in upon themselves or spilling across the roadway. Walls torn to form landslides across the ground – and he could peer right into the hearts of the exposed rooms. So many windows, yet Yuri couldn't see a single solid pane of glass. Most of them had shattered long ago, cast across the ground like the seeds of broken stars – though some shards still clung to the window panes like fangs, sharp glistening wickedness.

Yuri watched with careful eyes as JJ strode smoothly across the modern jungle of destruction, a human flame amongst a landscape of ash. His thick, long coat fell just past his knees, a deep wine red that was smudged and stained – yet amongst a world of greys and browns and charcoaled blacks, the color was as vivid as the sun. The jacket itself was recognizable on its own, yet there was no place for subtlety in this broken city. Across the back of the red fabric, a black crown had been smeared in thick paint. 

They passed broken walls slathered in paint, those harsh glaring symbols that marked territories, marked strength, layers of taunts and cries of fury – a riot of color for the entire world to see. The streets were filled with the husks of cars, those twisted metal vehicles that seemed burnt bright and coated with rust - a monument to a forgotten world that existed only in their stories, in the dim misty memories of the old ones. Bits of torn steel lay scattered across the ground like gnarled bones, until every street looked like a garden of broken graves.

It wasn't hard to keep pace. It was easy to duck behind the corpses of cars whenever JJ paused to peer behind his shoulder, to keep his body tucked behind the corners of broken buildings for several long heartbeats before he heard the other's foot steps move onwards. Only then would Yuri slip out from his hiding spot. His feet fell lightly over debris, weight distributed on the balls of his feet – he was a dark shadow with a racing heart, and adrenaline tasted sweet against his tongue.

JJ was leading him on a merry chase through the city. The faded sun was gone, leaving skies that were painted as dark as thunderclouds, yet their bruised curves did not cradle a storm, only the night that was falling around them. It was a sign of arrogance – or strength – that he could walk without fear through the city, without the company of his usual guards. Even with his club resting easily over his shoulder, the Beast wasn't afraid of running into company he couldn't handle. The night held no danger for him.

Yuri felt a small smile curl the corners of his lips – a feral grin that held a world of promise. 

JJ turned the corner. Instead of the shells of the scrapers that had once stretched towards the sun, this block was filled with shorter buildings. They were all pressed against one another, shoulder to shoulder, brown brick rising several stories tall – a dozen identical copies spilling the same sidewalks that led to duplicated doorways. Paint splashed against brown brick – yet the clan names scrawled in faded rainbows had all been disbanded, destroyed, or dissolved into larger clans. This was unclaimed territory now. Wild land where clanless wanderers could make their homes.

So it was strange to crouch behind the hulk of a rusted car, to peer out from behind a broken tail-light while he watched JJ saunter up one of those sidewalks,watched as he pressed a palm against an unremarkable door and slip within. 

Yuri hesitated for a long moment, counted several breaths before he followed. 

The windows at floor level all looked boarded up, criss-crossed with wood to provide a flimsy shield – common practice for any building used as a shelter, even temporarily. He couldn't pry open those planks of wood – the groaning shriek of nails ripped from window frames would hardly be stealthy. He looked up – narrowed eyes glancing over the dirty brick, swept upwards towards the second story windows. Their dark openings watching like the eye sockets of skulls – those black hollows baleful and empty. He chewed on his lip. They were boarded up as well.

Well, fuck. That left one entry. 

Cautiously, Yuri approached the door. Fingers reached out to curl against smooth metal, and ever so slowly, he twisted it. His lips parted in surprise to discover the door was unlocked – a part of him wanted to shake his head and smirk at the incompetence of foolish Beasts. But he hid the smirking grin inside of his chest, and pushed the door open, one slow inch at a time, and closed it behind him just as gently. 

Patience was the greatest virtue in hunting, Yuri reminded himself. How often had Viktor told him those very words? It was hard to remember when his prey was so close, yet he forced himself to stand still, opening every sense to take stock of his surroundings. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness - the rooms around him were dipped in shadow, yet the slender boy saw no movement. 

There was a creak above his head – the sound of heavy shoes against a complaining floorboard, and he knew his prey's exact location. Yuri moved slowly towards the staircase. Slow and steady was the name of the game, each careful step balanced on the ball of his feet. The staircase presented its own challenge – yet he kept his foot-falls pressed as close to the outside edge of each stair as he could, where it was least likely to squeal or squeak beneath his weight. 

Yuri made it to the second floor, slinking silently with every slow step. The minutes were stretching into a dozen eternities, and yet his blood was racing with the excitement of the hunt. Ahead, he could see a hint of golden light spilling across the floorboards of the hallway, and he inched his way closer. One heart beat and then another. It was quiet – too quiet. There were no other voices to break the stillness – he half expected JJ to have company, and yet all he could hear was a steady silence – broken only by the faint creaks of old floorboards from the other room. 

He was so close now. There was a crack in the door, a faint sliver like roots curling through wood, edged in gold from the light within. Yuri's fingers stretched slowly towards the door knob – holding his breath as he saw the warm light falter, broken by a figure that passed close to the door. 

Was JJ... pacing? 

The Heartless boy grinned, tightening his grip on the hilt of his dagger as his clawed fist closed on the door knob. He took a deep breath – and threw the door open as quick as he could. He didn't hesitate – didn't stop to glance around the room, just hurled his body at the tall form of the Beast King, blade in hand. 

They landed against the wall in a gasping heap of limbs, his chest pressed against the hard column of JJ's spine. And beneath his heartbeat, he could feel JJ's snarl of fury – a growling sound that ripped through ribcage as if his lips were curled over a mouthful of fangs, fierce and feral. Yuri wasn't prepared for JJ to simply throw him off – his shoulders heaving and an elbow lashing outwards – and suddenly, Yuri found himself against the ground, his chest aching from the blow. But there was no time to waste – he had to move, he had to fly, he had to react nownownow.

He scrambled to his feet instantly, fingers tightening around his blade, and rushed back towards the larger man. JJ had strength on his side, but Yuri had speed – brawn against agility. He was prepared for the fist that JJ threw, fingers curled into a stone-heart that could shatter cartilage in one well-aimed punch, holding the power to stop him right in his tracks.

So Yuri ducked under its swing. Ducked under and surged upwards in a single smooth motion and before JJ could blink, his back was pinned against the wall, and there was a dagger point dimpling his neck. 

They were both gasping ragged mouthfuls of air, yet JJ went still at the sharp edge of the knife pressed against his throat. Yuri felt an absurd bubble of laughter coil up through his chest, emerging from his lips in a snicker. Victory tasted like copper against his tongue, like the wary caution with which JJ studied him. Silver glinted sharp-fanged against honey-kissed skin – just a flick of his wrist and it would all be over.

Yuri spared a glance at their surroundings. The room was empty except for the two panting boys – and judging by the hollow silence that echoed through every corner, they were very much alone. Paint peeled across the dirty walls, smudged and dusted. One corner even looked a bit scorched, the paint turned charcoaled as if it had been kissed by flames too bright, until its very skin bubbled and curled away in blackened ribbons from the wall beneath. One wall held heavy curtains that stretched down towards the floor, shrouding the wooden planks criss-crossed over windows, yet the tattered fabric seemed muted with dust.

He saw candles. Candles everywhere. Dozens of small wax pillars resting against the ground, beads of wax curling down their spines until puddles of color bloomed from their roots. There were even a few lanterns, those rarer structures of porcelain and glass, whose flames burnt brightly from behind glass. It was like being surrounded by a hundred stars, gold glowing against his eyelids until all he could see was light, flickering and dancing and hypnotic. 

He could see a mattress in the corner of the room, propped simply against the floorboards, covered in a few patchwork blankets and a lumpy looking pillow. There was a teetering table with two mismatched chairs, a bookshelf whose thick layer of dust obscured almost every object that cluttered across its ribs. It wasn't a room that felt lived in. 

Yet here JJ was. Pressed against the wall with Yuri's knife at his throat. At his mercy. The Ice Tiger had captured his prey. He felt a fierce joy spark inside of his chest, pride weaving through the veins beneath his skin as his gaze returned to the dark-haired man before him.

“Surprise,” Yuri said softly, and he knew that his eyes were burning emeralds in the flickering light – glowing with the scent of blood. A smirk crooked the corner of his lips. He traced the blade across soft skin, using its tip to trace invisible letters over the tender curve of throat. “I win.”

JJ's palms were held high, fingers spread wide in a gesture of acquiescence. The sigh in his voice should have been heavy with annoyance or shuddering with fear, yet all Yuri saw was a spark of amusement beneath that tumble of dark hair. “Are you done?” The king asked mildly.

He pretended to consider for a brief moment before shaking his head. The smirk deepened behind a tendril of golden hair. “I don't think so,” Yuri hummed gently as he watched the rise and fall of JJ's chest, the way those rough gasps smoothed themselves into gentle breaths. He could see the heart-beat flutter in the other man's neck, just below the sharp edge of his blade.

JJ's eyes were watching him closely, studying him as if he could memorize every sharp angle of the younger boy's face – as if moon-kissed skin held the answer to some unspoken question. What he saw reflected in Yuri's green eyes gave him the wisdom to stay silent. 

“I could kill you right here,” Yuri said thoughtfully, letting the blade shift downwards. Tracing over the thick artery, brushing across the dip of his collarbone. Coming to a rest above sternum, the silvered tip pressing not-too-gently against the ridges of bone. “I could rip the heart right out of your chest. Or bring your head back to Viktor. Can you imagine how pleased he'd be if I gave him proof that our biggest enemy was destroyed?”

Blue eyes glittered at the provocation, a dark eyebrow raising. “Do it then,” JJ challenged him. His voice was low and soft, and there was no hint of fear curling through his words. Just that same damned smirk, drowning in smug confidence. 

“You don't think I will?” Yuri asked. In a heartbeat, the blade had left JJ's sternum, pressed once more against the tender flesh of his throat. The Heartless warrior's body was almost flush against the larger man's, and Yuri arched an eyebrow as he pressed harder upon the blade. Watching as ruby began to bloom from the faint cut beneath the blade, a ribbon of scarlet streaking across skin. 

But JJ never winced. The smirk grew deeper, those blue eyes brighter. “You won't,” he replied, and he never looked away from the silver-jade gaze that held such danger. “For two very important reasons.”

“Really. Do tell,” Yuri said, and those three words burned with equal measures of boredom and sardonic indifference. But the green flames in his eyes spoke of a different emotion, fixated on the King beneath his blade. 

“If I die, my Beasts will hunt down every last one of you. Every man. Every woman. Every child. The streets will be painted in a river of blood. Your blood. And it will be war like you have never imagined. Because you Heartless aren't strong enough to handle the fall out. You haven't sealed your treaty and merged with Yuuri's Yōkai. Which means the city will tear itself apart. And everyone you know will die.” 

JJ said it so calmly. Beneath the thick sweep of lashes, Yuri couldn't see the glitter of fear or the glint of apprehension. JJ spoke as if it were the most mundane conversation in the world, instead of the only thing that might be keeping him alive. The dark-haired man could have been talking about the poisoned clouds smudged across the sky or what he might have eaten for breakfast. A truth so simple, it was practically meaningless.

Yuri's stomach twisted and he scowled. The other boy was right. He could not admit it outloud, yet the truth still weighed heavy in the air. It swelled between them like a storm, bruising thunder that tasted sour against his tongue.

“What's the second reason?” he snarled.

This time, there was a smirk tilting the edges of JJ's lips. His voice dropped to a murmur that was so soft it was barely audible, and Yuri found himself leaning closer, straining to hear. Knife still pressed against JJ's throat, the shallow cut still bleeding, and he could feel the King's chest rise and fall with each gentle breath. This close, he could see the way the light caught against the moisture on JJ's lips, parted gently.

Yuri leaned closer. “Tell me,” he ordered, and the two simple words were heavy with threat.

JJ jerked forward, oblivious or uncaring of the silver at his throat. And then his lips were pressed against Yuri's, a searing kiss edged with hunger. Somehow, one hand managed to find Yuri's waist, fingers snagging a handful of fabric as he rocked his hips against the other boy. 

Tension snapped and fire bloomed between them. And Yuri was kissing him back, a groan spilling from his lips as desire curled through his veins, as every muscle felt suddenly painted with warmth. The knife slipped from helpless fingers, sliding off of the curve of JJ's shoulder to clatter uselessly against the floor, the silver still stained with a faint smudge of blood. Yuri's fingers were tangling into the other boy's dark-ink hair, tugging tight and listening to the gasp that tore its way from JJ's throat.

His eyes fluttered closed as JJ's lips fell away from his, as the Beast king's face nuzzled against the curve of Yuri's neck. His breath was warm against the boy's ear. “Think of you much you'd miss this,” JJ whispered, and his voice was already hoarse, edged and raw with hunger.

Yuri gasped at the low murmur brushing against his mind, the way the deep notes reached through his ribcage to tug low in his belly. His golden brows knit together and he struggled to cling to the threads of anger that had burned so brightly inside of him.

“I wouldn't miss this at all,” the Heartless youth promised, though the waver in his voice was a tangle of yearning and desire, and the lie was recognizable as it stuttered from his lips. “I told – I told you th'last time - I was finished.” 

“I've lost count of how many 'last times' we've had,” JJ teased him, and every gasping word was painted with amusement. His forehead rested against Yuri's, black hair mingling with gold, and the other boy could taste laughter against his tongue. “You've said it every time for the the last seven months. Yet you still followed me here. Yet you still get angry at the thought of a Siren in my bed. I think you might even be jealous.” 

“Why would I be jealous?” Yuri growled, and he spit the words as if their sharp edges were turning to rust inside of his chest. There it was. The anger flared inside of him again, the bright burning embers rioting through his ventricles, dancing through his blood. 

He pushed JJ away roughly, lips curling into a snarl. “You can go get a Siren whenever you want. I don't care who you fuck, JJ. Fuck all of 'em if you wish. It's all the same to me.” His arms folded across his chest, and the candlelight kissed his sharp cheeks. A fierce warrior prince, proud in his fury. 

And JJ stared at him as if he was painted from starlight, as if his green eyes were painted from dreams. 

“The only one I want to fuck is you, Yuri,” JJ told him, the smile disappearing as the teasing tone faded beneath a hesitant seriousness. His voice deepened into something grave. He reached out, tentative fingers brushing across golden hair and tucking an errant strand back behind Yuri's ear. “There's only you. You know that.”

Yuri felt some of the anger crumble at the way JJ's voice had softened, the way the laughter had faded. He could feel the sincerity in the gentle touch, the faint hint of trembling against the other boy's fingertips. He allowed his folded arms to uncross themselves and fall to his sides, though he refused to reach out, refused to relax against JJ's body.

“What about Izzy?” Yuri asked carefully, cursing the stiffness of his words, the way his voice hitched gently in the back of his throat as he remembered the girl JJ had taunted him about. Every muscle felt wound too tightly against his bones, sinews threatening to snap. 

The laughter was back, and this time, there was something sheepish about it, flavored with a hint of guilt. “Izzy's not my lover. Her little brother is a Beast. A couple of Shadows ambushed us a few days ago. The kid lost a hand and he might not make it, so I brought her a token. She's got free-pass into our territory while her brother's at death's door.”

Yuri shook his head. “You're such an asshole,” he grumbled, forcing his eyes to narrow into a tawny glare. Trying to hide the relief that spread through his veins like cool water, soothing and gentle, yet strangely uncomfortable. “I don't know why I put up with you.”

JJ's fingers slipped through the belt-loops of Yuri's patched pants, and he used them to pull the other boy closer. “Guess I'll just have to remind you then,” he said, and this time, the wicked smile on his lips was one that Yuri knew well. 

He let himself get drawn to the other boy, felt strong hands settled against slender hips. “You're lucky I didn't kill you,” Yuri growled beneath his breath. 

But his lashes fluttered closed in a lazy, languid gesture as he felt lips press themselves against golden hair. He tried to cling to annoyance, that familiar spark of exasperation – but all he could feel was that whisper of relief and the trickle of guilt that clung to its heels like thorns. Guilt shadowed through his ribs, masked by the frown that tugged the corners of his lips. His heart was pounding, rich and quick and making every breath harder to drag into lungs.

“Don't be mad, kitten. I'm sorry if I went too far,” JJ's apology was marred by the thread of laughter that softened his words, that warm sound of delight as he trailed kisses down Yuri's neck. “I can't help myself. You just look so fucking beautiful when you can't decide whether you want to kiss me or murder me.”

Yuri wanted to sink in to the cadence of JJ's voice, that familiar lilt of amusement at fooling the entire world once again. He wanted to reach out and brush fingers against that heavy cloak of confidence, wrap it around his shoulders and feel nothing but the fierce joy of being reunited, cherish these brief stolen moments for the treasures they were.

And yet... Every kiss against his pulse was a betrayal. Every shuddering breath stuttering from his lips tasted of treason, beautiful and wild and edged with guilt. Because the truth was... This was temptation in its most exquisite, dangerous form. How many times had they fought and bled and laughed and fucked - a tumultuous storm of silvered blades and fierce kisses, and he knew that every moment of this was wrong, so fucking wrong... But nothing in the world had ever tasted as sweet as the laughter on JJ's lips. 

Yuri rested his forehead against the ridge of JJ's shoulder. His fingers wove themselves into the king's jacket, tightening until his knuckles bleached and crimson fabric fisted against his palms, though he was careful not to let his claws dig into the firm flesh beneath. His body was trembling, faint shivers resonating through his limbs, and he knew that JJ would feel their echo against his calloused hands. He took a breath – savored the familiar scents that clung to the jacket - the smoky hints of bonfire and the bitter musk of cigarettes and sweat and iron, and something underneath that belonged to JJ alone. 

“You should find yourself a Siren, anyways,” he said dully. And the whisper was edged with bitterness, salt against his tongue. “You deserve somethin' better. There ain't no future here with me.”

The laughter was gone in a heartbeat, faded into silence between one breath and the next. 

“Fuck the future,” came JJ's growl, fierce and vehement all at once, a jagged sound as if the words ripped themselves out of his chest. Yuri could feel them reverberate against his fingertips, a snarling rumble that allowed no room for argument. “There's no future for me without you in it. It doesn't exist. I've got what I want. Right here, right now.” 

The growl faded, gentled into something so much softer, and he felt JJ's lips press against his forehead, a firm kiss brushed between the gold of his brows. Once, twice, and then the Beast warrior dropped his head to hug the smaller boy tightly. 

Yuri tried to swallow, but his throat felt swollen with shards of glass, their sharp edges pricking against the curve of his throat. How could those words bring him such emotions? Handfuls of happiness and sadness in equal measures, sprinkled across his mind. Such a beautiful sorrow, such a miserable thrill of comfort. And he felt an ache spread through his chest, a pain so gentle it might have been joy.

“There's only you, Yuri,” JJ repeated, murmuring the words over and over again into the curve of the other boy's neck. His arms tightened around Yuri's waist, pulling the other boy closer. As if they could sink into each other's skin, as if they could somehow find a taste of solace buried under the lattice of bone, as if his embrace could shield Yuri from every shadow that tried to cling to them.

Yuri closed his eyes tightly, golden crescent lashes falling over a somber green gaze. He lifted his head away from JJ's shoulder, pink lips parting. He could feel the warmth of JJ's fingertips trailing upwards against the curve of his spine, the weight of his palms painting soothing designs across the wings of his ribs. And in their wake, he feels the sparks again – those flickers of fire warming his skin, and he wanted to cling to them, cling to the fierce craving that always awoke at JJ's touch. This was real, at least. 

“Kiss me,” he murmured, and his voice dropped low in his throat, raspy edged with a hunger that didn't quite erase the hopeless glint in his eyes. “Make me forget the rest of the world, JJ. Make me forget everything except you.”

His greatest enemy. His lover. His life. His death. All woven together in the form of a dark-haired man with storm-cloud eyes and a wolfish grin, whose eyes glinted with pleasure at Yuri's words. Who curled his arms tighter and bent his head to capture those soft lips, and all other thoughts came stuttering to a halt as the world flared into heat and want and gasps dissolved from the tip of their tongues. 

Nothing else mattered but this.

**Author's Note:**

> Expect some back-story and smut next chapter!


End file.
